Taking 2nd Chances
by Smalker13
Summary: Regina adopted Emma back when she was 13 – and they became a family. However, just before she turns 16, Regina tells Emma a secret, and she runs. About 12 years later, a 10-year-old kid names Henry shows up at her door, and the two women meet each other again. Can they fix their broken relationship? Starts when Emma meets Henry, flashbacks in italics of past.
1. Wish on a Star

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time.**

 **Contains dialogue from the Pilot.**

Chapter 1: Wish on a star

"What the heck do you know about family, huh?"

 _A horse's mane, running past. Ice cream. A safe place to sleep. A calming hand on her shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon after a nightmare. Karaoke in the living room. A gentle hand, braiding her hair. Christmas, Hanukah and New Year all packed up into one. Pancakes and the best hamburgers in the world at Granny's diner. A hug. A smile. A mom. "I love you."_

 _Lies. Clocks. Hearts. 'Magic.' Betrayal. A waste of space. A stumbling man with a glass bottle in his hand. Nightmares. All alone. Worthless. Shivering, in the dark._

She reached out and instinctively knocked him unconscious, before letting out a melancholy sigh.

"Nothing."

...

She kicked her heels off as she walked into her apartment, mentally cursing herself for letting it get to her.

She quickly took out the cupcake from its paper bag, putting it on the counter. Birthdays were always the worst days of the year. The next thing out of the bag almost made her smile. Star shaped candles, that was nice of them. What was she, twelve?

Another year flashed into her mind, an actual cake – and a homemade one at that – with people talking around her, to her, and she quickly pulled herself back. You couldn't stay in the past. She knew that, better than anyone.

"Another banner year," she whispered under her breath, sighing.

She closed her eyes, thinking, wishing, and eventually making a promise: Next time, she wouldn't be alone. Next time, there'd be someone to celebrate her birthday with.

The ring of the doorbell jolted her out of her stupor, and she quickly wiped away the tear that had been about to fall, collecting herself in the space of two seconds, before going to face the visitor.

She had not expected him to be half her height, or a kid.

"Uh… Can I help you?" she asked, ready to shut the door at a moment's notice.

"Are you Emma Swan?"

She eyed him carefully, unsure why he knew her name. She quickly decided on her strategy – play it cool.

"Yeah, who are you?"

"My name's Henry," he paused, looking at her hesitantly, but with a small smile on his face, "I'm your son."

He wasn't her son. She was never going to see him again, and it would be better for him, wherever he was, and whoever he was, if he didn't. No, she was not going down that path. Before she could contemplate that further however, he was ducking under her arm and into the apartment.

"Whoa, hey, kid!" she called, trying to stop him, to no avail, "Kid! Kid! I don't have a son!"

One of her neighbors could have a kid, right? It wasn't like she socialized. Yes, of course, that was what was happening. She had no reason to be panicking. None at all.

"Where are your parents?"

"10 years ago, did you give up a baby for adoption?"

The sound of silence in the room was enveloping her, and she felt her breath hitched in her throat, waiting for what he would say next.

"That was me."

No. It couldn't be happening. Why would he be there? But she could see Neale in him, when she looked. And she had noticed that he shared her dark, hazel-colored eyes.

"Give me a minute," she said, practically running to hide.

He was her son. He was her son! And he was alright; at least it didn't look like he'd been through to hell and back. Which was good. But then, why was he here?

Through the door, she heard, "Hey, you have any juice? … Oh, never mind, found some."

He was her son, he had come to find her, and he didn't look like he wanted to rip her to shreds, as she once did – well, still did – her own biological parents. He seemed like a normal 10-year-old kid.

She really should've stopped freaking out by then. Gathering her courage, she walked back out to the kitchen, only to find him guzzling down her orange juice.

"You know, we should really get going."

What? Play it cool, "Going where?" she asked casually.

He smiled again, and replied, "I want you to come home with me."

Alarm bells went off in her head. But she looked at his face, and how he was still smiling - genuinely, so his home life couldn't be completely awful.

No, she decided, changing her mind, there was no way her kid was actually there; this was just a stupid prank.

"I'm calling the cops."

"Then I'll tell them you've kidnapped me," he said, evenly.

Why did he have to be smart?

"And they'll believe you because I'm your birth mother."

"Yep."

But he's an amateur at this game; she's been playing it for years.

"You're not gonna do that."

"Try me."

"You're pretty good. But here's the thing, there's not a lot I'm great at in life, but I have one skill – let's call it a superpower," she pauses, making sure he's watching her, "I can tell when anyone's lying. And you kid, are." She picks up the phone. It works like a charm.

"Wait, please don't call the cops, please go home with me," he begs.

She's surprised. So, he really is her son, then. He actually wasn't lying – because, contrary to what she's just told him, she can't tell all the time – and she can't believe she's going along with this. What will his parents think? Next question, Emma.

"Where's home?"

"Storybrooke, Maine."

She feels her blood run cold.

So she forces herself to look at him, instead. His pleading eyes, the fact that he came four hours – she doesn't even want to know how he did that – just to find her.

He could be anyone's kid. Anyone's. He could definitely be the kid of someone she didn't know. Definitely.

So she asks what any normal person would, the same way she did when she first heard of the town.

"Storybrooke? Seriously?"

His nod is so honest, she can't resist.

"All righty then, let's get you back to Storybrooke."


	2. Welcome to Storybrooke

_**Hello!**_

 _ **Thank you to everyone who's read, followed, favorite-d, or reviewed the story. Updates will probably be sporadic, as I'm writing as I go. Also, if something is glaringly un-American, please let me know, because I don't live there. In the show, Henry's sat next to Emma, but for this, I'm changing it to him sitting in the back because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to sit in the front of the car until you're twelve - just to clear up any possible confusion.**_

 _ **Anyway, Enjoy!**_

 **Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.**

 **Contains scenes from the pilot.**

Chapter 2: Welcome to Storybrooke

It occurs to her as they leave Boston, but still remain in Massachusetts, that this could be some kind of ploy to get her to come back. How did the kid find her, anyway? It was supposed to be a closed adoption.

But then again, it's been 12 years. And her change of last-name, in addition to how often she stays in one place, should have kept her hidden.

But he called her Emma Swan, not Mills, which is the name she put down, so it actually makes more sense that he just wanted to find his birth mother. How did he find her, anyway?

She's about to ask, but the kid has impeccably bad timing, as he starts talking before she can.

"I'm hungry. You wanna stop somewhere?"

She's very very tempted to reply back at him that it's got to be at least 9 o'clock at night, and he should have brought something along to eat since this whole thing was his idea in the first place. What did he expect, that she'd just give him a hug and ask him to move in with her?

She stays silent as they approach a yellow light.

Right, she's dealing with a more or less average 10 year old. That probably was what he expected.

"This is not a road trip, kid, we're not stopping for snacks."

In the mirror, she can see him open his mouth, and she stops him before he can say something. "But, there's a bag of pretzels and an apple in the seat pocket if you want something to eat."

Soon, the only sound in the car is that of the kid munching on pretzels. Well, at least snacks for in - case - dinner - date - walks - out - on - you - and - you - get - stuck - in - traffic - on - your - Birthday are good for something. Plus, if he makes a comment about the apple, providing Regina hasn't chopped her tree down, which she honestly can't imagine happening, she can maybe guess where he lives.

As she slows at another red light, she takes the opportunity to study him from the mirror, when the book he's reading catches her eye. It's an old book, with brown binding, landscape. From the way he's holding it, she can't quite make out the title, so, gathering her courage, and ignoring that instinct that tells her to observe yet remain silent, she asks.

"What's that you're reading?"

He snaps it shut and meets her eyes in the mirror, and where she expects fear she gets hesitation instead. He purses his lips as if examining her, and she passes by the now green light before mimicking him, and then raising her eyebrows as well to make a statement. He drops his gaze first, laying the book down on the middle seat, title face up, allowing her to get a glimpse.

"I'm not sure you're ready."

She glances back at the book as she recalls those words. " _I'm not sure you're ready, but I have to tell you this, and please, please only hate me for what I did then."_

" _Eyes on the road, Em, always keep your eyes on the road."_ Drifts through her head next, and with a visible shudder her eyes wander back where they're supposed to be, as she makes a turn.

The kid has gone back to munching on pretzels.

His words were laced with confidence and hesitation; hers with fear and desperation, and even if Emma didn't know it at the time, honesty.

She looks back at the book again, and is rather quickly very thankful for the yellow light up ahead that she won't be able to make, which soon turns a glaring red. She replays the jumbled memories through her mind again:

 _A warm, comfy, loved feeling spreading through her, as she looks at the face of a familiar women with long, black, hair, and a man with short, dark brown hair. The women looks to be in pain, and has tears streaming down her pale face. "Goodbye, Emma."_

 _She sees carpeted corridors with polished wood doors and arches, and people with black armor with a ridiculous black feather on top. She hears the clashes and clangs that she somehow understands are related to a sword fight. She sees a cut, and blood flowing from his shoulder, and wood around her, as he disappears with the words, a murmured plea, "Find us."_

 _She hears more sounds of metal against metal, before everything is suddenly dark and then brown, and she can hear birds chirping, and feel a pulse of magic spreading through her. She starts crying, and then there is a boy above her. He has on a cone-shaped gold-rimmed red hat, a white shirt covered with a green vest, and dark red shorts. She is suddenly in his arms, and she can see that he has carrot-colored hair and an orange bow tie to go along with it. He shushes her, and she feels unsteady in his small arms as he takes her from the forest that, once again, seems familiar, to what she assumes is a small restaurant, where people gawk and point, and she hears the boy say, "I found her at the side of the road," before a woman with blonde hair leads them both aside._

 _She is moved to an orphanage, then a foster family and people pass and go and most visit once or twice, but not more. She does, learn to recognize the scary eyes of Mr. Roskind, but more out of a sense of fear than anything else. The boy with the carrot colored hair, though, is different. He tells them that her name is Emma and his is August, but when he isn't someplace faraway he calls 'school', he is with her, feeding her, playing peek-a-boo, and most of the time, telling her stories of a place called the enchanted forest, where his name is Pinocchio, and he has a father named Gepetto, where she has parents; Snow White and Prince Charming, who also goes by David. Sometimes, he goes away, and each time she waits eagerly until he comes back. As the shadows under his eyes grow, and he comes back to her side quieter, more subdued, his eyes get older. He smiles when she sees him, but it is different, off._

 _She knows that she's 18 months old while he's exactly 9 when he leaves. He tells her so before the thing that separates them comes. It's a kid, one of the not-mean older ones, with a roll of money for bus tickets. He says the one thing no one else that has left has ever said to her. "I'm sorry, Emma." And then he kisses her forehead and leaves, with an understanding through them both, never to be seen again._

 _She watches Mr. Roskind destroying an empty bed in a rage, is taken in by the Swans soon after._

She blinks, mind back in the yellow bug. So everything is real.

The traffic light remains red, and so she turns back, and looks at the book one more time. It is no longer encased in a golden glow, but then again, she didn't expect it to be. The golden-rimmed words, however, remain etched clearly on the cover, "Once Upon a Time."

A book of fairytales, with every story that ever happened being true, no doubt.

Lovely.

She pushes it to the back of her mind. She'll deal with it later.

Now, to subtly interrogate the kid. "Not ready for a book of fairytales?"

"They're not fairytales. They're true. Every story in this book actually happened."

Of course they did.

"Kid, where did you get that book that made you willing to believe everything in it?"

He goes on the defensive. "Use your superpower. See if I'm lying."

She ignores the urge to sigh. "I never said you were, kid, just asked a question."

There's a stagnant pause, during which she runs through yet another yellow light. And then, a miracle happens. The kid decides to think.

"I… I dunno, actually."

This time, she actually does sigh. "So the book randomly appeared in your room one day, and that wasn't strange at all?"

"Oh… no. No, that's not what I meant."

She resists the impulse to bang her head on the steering wheel and give up. Was she this confusing when she was 10?

She gives him a look in the rearview mirror that she hopes translates to, Well, then, what _did_ you mean?, which, it apparently does.

"No, my teacher from school gave it to me. I read it, and it just … it felt right, like it was telling the truth."

Half of her wants to shake him, get him to say something other than 'it felt right,' but the logical side of her understands that they're dealing with magic, of all things, and 'it felt right' is probably the most accurate reason she's going to get. Still, it's a book. Which means someone wrote it, and no one's completely unbiased, which means however accurate the book may be, it is not foolproof. And if Regina didn't give it to him - unless she's changed her career to that of a school teacher - she still could have written it.

The kid seems to take her silent for disbelief.

"It's like… like your superpower."

That makes… a surprising amount of sense, actually.

Then, "Hey, maybe it's genetic. You can tell if people are lying, and I can tell if books are lying!"

She restrains herself from bursting into laughter by giving only a smile. Just barely, but she does.

Barely a second later, her earlier, somber mood is back, as her eyes bore into the sign in the distance.

A sense of longing lodges in her throat as she identifies, with the _Welcome_ in italic cursive, the 'to' normal, and the **Storybrooke** bold, the sign as the one _she_ helped make, after that awful storm. Tears well up in her eyes and she forces them away, puts on a blank mask, just as they pass the sign. It occurs to her then, that the kid's eaten the pretzels, but not the apple. She'll ask why later. Now, she has to pretend. Pretend she's never lived here. Pretend it's just another town, that she'll pass through and leave, with barely a trace.

By the time they get to the main street, and Granny's, which makes her wonder if Ruby's, _bleached red hair, genuine smile on her face, "Come on Emma, you can stack another tray,_ " still there, she sufficiently trusts her mask, and she turns to the kid, who has been silent since they'd passed the street, to ask for directions.

"Can I have an address, kid?"

His reply, is of course, cryptic.

"44th, not telling you street."

" _Where does she live?"_

" _44th, Mifflin Street."_

Emma stops the car and counts to 10, willing the memories to stay away. Then, she takes a side street, and heads that way, hoping the kid is as unobservant as he appears. If not, he'll realize that she knows way too much about this place.

And along the way, she wishes on the ungranted birthday wishes for him not to have 44th, Mifflin Street as his address. She needs this to be simple. Get in, get out, don't get recognized, don't get weak.

Evidently, as he points her to that exact locations, ungranted birthday wishes like to stay ungranted, and soon she is leading the kid up the walkway, to the, she assumes, still Mayor's, mansion.

In front of the door, he stops. "Please don't make me go back there."

For a quarter of a second, she considers. His statement is desperate. But it also has a childish whine on top of it.

She shakes her head. He'll be okay. "I have to. I'm sure your m-," she catches herself, "parents, are worried sick about you."

"I don't have parents. Just a mom and she's evil."

Emma almost flinches back from the disgust in those words, but she does raise her eyebrows. "Evil? That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

"She is. She doesn't love me. She only pretends to."

She's fumbling for words, because she doesn't understand. Evil? Strict, sure, but evil? "Kid… I'm sure that's not true."

He's saved answering her, and she an uncomfortable conversation, when the white door slams open, and a woman in a grey dress, Regina, clearly, though her hair is shorter, comes running down to hug Henry.

"Henry! Henry… Are you okay? Where have you been? What happened?"

Emma listens to the tone of voice, and inwardly sighs in relief. That is love, that is worry, that is panic, and her son, is completely safe in those hands.

Unfortunately, the kid, doesn't seem to get that because he glares at Regina, declares, "I found my real mom," and proceeds to run right into the house, leaving her the sole focus of Regina's attention.

She is caught in the headlights as the woman studies her up and down, assessing her, though fear and uncertainty is clear on her face.

Finally, she asks, "You… you're Henry's birth mother?"

And Emma studies her eyes and she knows. This woman does not know her, does not recognize her in the slightest. She is Henry's birth mother, a threat, perhaps not a big one, but a threat nonetheless, and that is all she is.

Emma swallows the feelings down her throat, and with them the walls that ooze confidence she doesn't really have, and she'll deal with them later, like she always does, with everything else, and she'll cry because it hurts, hurts way too much, but right now she'll be Emma Swan, who got herself pregnant and had a kid in jail, and doesn't stay in any place for more than a year - Boston was an exception.

This is Mayor Mills she's talking to, mother of her son. She's the one who will protect him, and inevitable make her leave, and regret the thought of ever coming back, rather it's kid-related or not.

She says the only thing she can think of, with the most hesitant smile on her face.

"Hi."


	3. A Regal Interlude

_**Hello,**_

 _ **Again, thank you to every one who's read, followed, favorite-d, or reviewed the story. This is a family-fic rather than a swanqueen fic, and I have no plans to abandon it.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 **Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

 **Contains scenes from the pilot.**

Chapter 3: A Regal Interlude

When she arrives home, five o'clock on the dot, she calls up to her son, and, receiving no response, assumes he is ignoring her, _again_ , and begins the process of making dinner, along with a pie, in the hopes that, perhaps, _that_ will get him to stop looking at her as if she is a monster.

Half an hour later she checks his room, and gets quite a shock when she realizes he's not _there_ , before remembering that it's Thursday, meaning he's off with the cricket, and won't get home until six.

Another half an hour after that, she calls Archie, only to find out that her son didn't show up, and proceeds to tear apart the house, then goes back to her office, and last checks the tunneled area near her father's grave, looking for him.

Around eight, she bangs her head against a wall and calls Graham. At nine, she goes to the school, where no lights shine, and no one seems to exist. At ten, she calls Sydney, because he _was_ a magic mirror in another life, and when he yields no response, she tells the Sheriff to take a break, that she'll call him, if he's still missing tomorrow. God, how she hopes that he _isn't_ missing tomorrow.

In the meantime, she tries to remember how she used to be able to do magic, in a feeble attempt to get to her son. She tells herself that, at midnight, she'll go to Gold. Rumpelstiltskin might have conjured a son for her only to take him away, but Gold - well, she hopes he's less _desperate_ , than that. Otherwise, there really is no hope for her left.

At quarter past ten, she sinks against the door, counts, as the seconds go by, and tells herself, that Henry is playing a prank. That, any moment, now, he will pop up, good as new, and he won't _be_ angry and suspicious of her, anymore, like he has been for _weeks_ , and she'll scold him, for making her worry before she _hugs_ the life out of him, and everything will be _fine_ as it has always been.

She does not last very long, before the tears fall, and all manner of horrible scenarios enter her head. _What if he's been kidnapped? What if they took him back to the enchanted forest? What if he's dying? What if he got taken back to when she was the Queen? What if he's dead? What if_ she _killed him?_

Around twenty before eleven, she hears voices, outside, drawing her out of her stupor, and goes to investigate, only to come face to face with the exact person she's spent all night looking for.

She doesn't believe it, at first, sure it's a _trick_ -

But then she's hugging him, and he's _real_ and _alive_ , and maybe now her heart won't beat straight out of her chest -

And then he rushes out of her grip, and she's standing, _alone_ , with a woman who she's only just realized, is there. And was probably the one, who brought Henry _back_ to her.

The thanks, so rarely given, from her, but so definitely necessary, is at the _tip_ , of her tongue, before Henry's words come back, to her.

"You… you're his birth mother?"

But even as she asks, she realizes, that she really _doesn't_ care, because this woman brought her son back. She'll care tomorrow, of course. Right now though, she's got her son back. Okay, so he won't talk to her, and her ran away from her, but he's still _back_ , and she doesn't really care, about anything else, at the moment. She's just exhausted, and relieved. So when the woman replies to her question, with such an unsure and ridiculously _sad_ , smile, she sighs and hopes that she won't regret this too much tomorrow.

With a slight smile of her own, she offers, "How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted?"

… … …

After two glasses, and standing there strangely comfortable and almost silent, except for the admission of their names, the alcohol begins to sink in, and Regina takes the chance to study and scrutinize the woman opposite her.

If she were normal, the cider would make her 'buzzed', or at least slightly less conscious, but Regina's skills of staying alert even while drunk, always the host, are well built in, even after 28 years of lying almost doormat, so instead, she has the upper hand.

"You don't seem like the kind of person to give up your son," she accuses, and doesn't expect it when Emma laughs.

It's a more of a snort, and a very short one at that, but Regina expects her to glare in distrust, or scrutinize her in return, and it's rather unsettling, for that not to happen.

" _That_ is a very accurate statement."

She waits, hoping the other woman will elaborate.

"I grew up in the foster system," Emma starts, Regina watching as her eyes grow somber, staring into the distance, "swore I'd never subject a kid to that."

"What changed?" she asks, and Emma's eyes swivel back to meet hers.

The sad smile reappears. "Circumstances."

Their previous silence resumes, as Regina tries to find a way to work around the woman's refusal to disclose information, politely, of course.

She doesn't get the chance.

"Thank you, for loving him." The comment grates on her nerves, but before she can make a satisfactory retort, Emma continues. "He's your son, I'm _not_ trying to take him away, he showed up on my doorstep and told me I was his birth mother, that's the only reason I know of him. But, I know what could have happened. So thank you, very much, for treating him as your son, instead of using him for money and dumping him on another's doorstep."

Honesty rings within her words, and Regina gives a nod to the blonde, in acceptance of her gratitude. Despite how much she wants to, Henry's birth mother is making it very hard for Regina to hate her.

"… mind if I stay a night?"

"Sorry?"

"If it wasn't a four hour drive back to Boston, I really would just leave, but," Regina hears nothing after Boston.

"You live in Boston?" She barely waits for the nod before she continues, speaking as she thinks, "Henry went all the way to Boston!? Does he have no …" she remembers Emma then, and, "Thank you, for driving him back."

If something had gone wrong… she knows the possibilities will feature prominently in her nightmares.

She turns her attention back to the blonde, who is speaking once again. Some things, are simpler to deal with than others.

"… know it's odd because I'm related to him, but would you mind if I stayed in the town one night, I'll leave first thing in the morning."

"I think, it would be better if you stay," Regina returns, attempting to be tall and imposing once again.

Emma's surprise is almost comical.

"I would prefer my son not run away _again_."

Her immediate understanding, less so.

"There's an inn not too far away - called Granny's."

"I passed it on the way."

"Of course."

She walks Emma to her car, expecting her to leave immediately, but she turns back as they reach door.

"Thank you," she says, again, leaving Regina to watch as she goes.

In the morning, she will consider her new mystery. Now she will ponder her son, along with another glass of alcohol.

Sometimes, she thinks being the evil queen was simpler.


	4. The Definition of Evil

_**Hello, Happy New Year! Let's hope this year's a good one.**_

 _ **Thank you again, to everyone who's read, followed, favorite-d, or reviewed the story, I appreciate it. This one's the longest chapter yet,**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Once Upon a Time, nor the Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes**

 **Contains scenes from pilot, and mentions of details of flashbacks from seasons 1 and 2.**

 **Warning: Mentions of implied abuse, mentions of descriptions of abuse.**

Chapter 4: The Definition of Evil

The drive to the familiar old inn is a short one, nevertheless, Emma is surprised to make it in one piece, what with her car sputtering the entire way.

She parks a street over, and gazes at the building, debating.

She is not poor - not anymore - but nor is she exactly rich. Neither, does she want to find out what will happen if she goes in. She does not know which will be worse - to be recognized, or not be - but both seem equally daunting.

At the same time, if Regina checks… she does not really want to explain herself.

A man approaches the inn, and, in the light of the door opening, she makes out his scarf, his cane, his hair, all marking him as the formidable Mr. Gold. _Rumplestiltskin_ \- dealer of dealers, spinner of gold. Master manipulator to the last.

Tonight, she will sleep in her car.

… … …

She wakes up at half past four, rubbing her head.

Looking down at the offending item, she lets out a long-suffering sigh.

 _Of course,_ the kid left the book in the car. _On purpose,_ no doubt.

But if he left it there, _surely_ , he wanted her to read it, and who is she to deny his request, despite the guilt she feels at this invasion of privacy - well, too bad. And if curiosity kills the cat, she does not need satisfaction to bring her back.

… … …

At six, she closes the book, and makes her way into the recently opened Granny's.

The bell jingles as she passes through the door, and the diner, unlike Regina's home, remains unchanged.

If not for her bleary-eyed promise to Regina the night before, she might be inclined to drive away.

As it is, is she's going to need to know where she stands. And Ruby, at least, ought to remember her. _She hopes so._

"You new to town?"

Recognition is, once again, absent from a set of familiar eyes.

"Yes," she says, avoiding the waitress's gaze, "Just passing through. Hot chocolate, please?"

"Coming right up. I'm Ruby, by the way."

The smile she gives in return is completely fake, but she forces it upon her face anyway. "Emma."

The hot chocolate she receives is good, if absent of cinnamon, and she pulls her computer out to work.

Somewhat luckily, _Ryan_ was her last scheduled bail which means she's completely free to stay here indefinitely, unfortunately.

Not that she will, if she can get out of it. This place has memories. More than any other place. And if she can outrun them, so much better. If she can't, well, perhaps it's' about time.

She orders another drink, then exchanges her computer for the kid's book. For a book about fairy tales, it's extraordinarily long, detailed, and unfinished. So far, it seems to follow the story of Snow White and Prince Charming, who, it turns out, is not really a prince at all, with the occasional chapter of backstory around the time a new character enters:

Snow White was a spoiled brat until her mother died. Prince James was an arrogant _jerk_. David was a poor farmer, who lived with his mother. Snow White's mother, Eva, was killed by Cora, because Eva embarrassed Cora when she was a teenager, and Cora wanted revenge. The reason the giants don't trust humans is because Prince James and his then girlfriend, Jack, betrayed them. Rumplestiltskin taught Cora magic. Prince James died. David slew a dragon, and took his twin's place. Regina is Cora's daughter, married to the youngest prince. Daniel is Regina's love, whom Cora kills. Regina blames Snow, because Cora is manipulative. King Leopold, and Cora, force Regina to marry Snow's father. Regina learns magic from Rumplestiltskin. King Leopold favours Snow and the dead Eva over his Queen. A geni results in the death of Leopold. Regina exiles Snow, and frames her as a murder. David is to be engaged to Abigail, and accepts under threat from King George. The Huntsman is kind. Red is a wolf. Rumplestiltskin is a coward. Belle is brave. Regina becomes the Evil Queen. Snow and David meet. Rumplestiltskin has a son, whom he abandons. Red kills her mother. Jiminy Cricket was once a reluctant thief. Snow White meets the seven dwarves. Regina captures David. Captain Hook is a pirate, initially with two hands. Abigail is free to be with Frederick.

It's not exactly biased, as she first thought it would be, but it's very fragmented. Of Snow White and the two princes, the book is relatively thorough. Of the others who pop up often: Cora, Rumplestiltskin, Regina, King Leopold, King George, less so. Leopold always seems devoted to his daughter, there is barely a mention of how he rules his Kingdom, nor his relationship with his first, or second, wife. Because of his daughter, he seems _mostly_ good. George, on the other hand, is ruthless in his attempt to rule his part of the land, and he _says_ he loves his first son, but it's unclear whether it is actually love, or simply knowledge that James knew what to do as he himself had taught him. He is almost effortlessly cast into the position of a villain, as is Cora, even with no backstory of the Eva/Cora incident from Eva's position, as she forces her daughter into her dreams.

While Emma doesn't exactly disagree with the last point, and definitely does over the first, she wonders over King George. Ruthless, or desperate? Grieving, or uncaring?

Rumplestiltskin and Regina, on the other hand, jump from being relatively _good_ and victims - the father who abandons the war to take care of his son, even after his wife abandons him, and the daughter who rebels against her mother to marry the one she wants, only to accept her role when her fiance is killed - to being _evil_ and manipulative - The Dark One and the Evil Queen - without much of a cause.

It frustrates her, but also puzzles her. She can understand how Henry would equate Regina as the Evil Queen - the _book_ does, after all, - but it isn't all good versus evil either, there is _some_ grey, especially in regards to Red and Eva, so she wonders why he is so _determined_ to see his _mother_ as _evil_. And, granted, most of this information she's found through people, as opposed to a _book_ , but still.

Seeing light out the window from the corner of her eyes, she closes the book and resolves to ponder _that_ mystery later, only to have Ruby set down another cup of hot chocolate, this time with cinnamon sprinkled over the top.

"I didn't order that."

"I know. You have a special admirer." Ruby's smile is kind, but her head has a small tilt to it, indicating that she's being studied.

A quick glance around the room doesn't reveal many people - and initially, she doesn't spot anyone who has reason to know _her_. Really, she's only talked to three people.

When she sees him, she can feel her hands clench into fists and her heart beat faster. She wants to run.

Preferably, away.

In the daylight, now, she isn't quite sure why she brought him back, to this god-forsaken, yet familiar, old town.

He found himself a way to Boston, _surely_ he could have found a way back.

And then there's Regina.

Who doesn't remember her.

Who asked her to stay, for a time. So Regina's son doesn't run away again. _Just like she did, once._ Oh, the irony.

And if it wasn't for Regina, she likes to think she would have _gone_ , by now. Followed her instincts and _run_ , like she always has.

She thought it was awful, coming _into_ this town, expected to be met with anger and guilt and be blamed, but still _missed_ \- yet it's as if she never existed.

Always, always, alone.

And in a week, she'll leave again. Leave the puzzle that is Storybrooke to be.

She smiles at him, at Regina's son. Gives him a 'thank you' for the hot chocolate.

Unclenches her fists, as he tells her that's how _he_ likes it.

She can stay for a week, but no longer, she decides as he slides into the booth across from her.

Any longer, and she's pretty sure she'll get attached. That _can't_ happen.

"Did you read the book?"

"Does your mom know you're here?"

The staring contest takes less than three seconds before he caves.

"No."

She gives him a look, and he gives her a glare.

"Did you read the book?" he repeats, eyes alternating between it and her face.

"Some of it," she answers, and his smile lights up his whole face, before turning serious again.

He lowers his voice before he speaks. "Then you understand."

"Understand what, kid?" she asks, whispering as well.

"Why our first mission should be finding out who everyone is. I'm calling it Operation Cobra. And, now you get why my mom is evil."

He says the last sentence with an _awful_ expression on his face, and she decides immediately what _her_ plan action is, namely, finding what the discrepancy is between Henry and Regina. As soon as possible.

"No."

"No?"

"I already _know_ who most everyone is, and kid, your _mom_ once having been the 'Evil Queen,' does not make her evil."

"Of course it _does_ , but, what do you mean you know who _most_ of them are? I mean, Granny is Granny. And Ruby is Red, and Mr. Gold - he basically owns the town, is Rumpelstiltskin."

"Is that all?"

"Regina _is_ the Evil Queen," he starts, and she leaves him be, this time, "and my teacher is Snow White. Oh, and Archie is Jiminy Cricket."

He seems to be trying to search his memory for more, so she offers, "Marco is Gepetto."

At his smile and nod, she adds more. "The sheriff is the huntsman. Ashley's Cinderella. Katherine is Abigail, the high school PE teacher is Frederick. Jefferson is the mad hatter, Paige is his daughter, and her parents here are the master and mistress of the house,* like from the Mother Goose tales…"

"How do you know?"

She shrugs, not giving him an answer.

"I didn't realize the Mother Goose tales were accurate."

"Not all of them are, but most of them have some lick of truth in them."

"Cool. So, what should we do first, if Operation Cobra is out?

"We still have to talk about your mom, kid."

"Why do keep calling me 'kid'? I have a name, you know. _Henry_. You can use it."

"Why are you so sure your mom is evil?"

"She's the _Evil_ Queen, what more reason is there?"

"Look, _kid_ , you're saying a book of fairytales is true. And while I'm not disagreeing with that, really, I'm _not_ , all of these fairytales happened in the past. She _was_ the Evil Queen, fine. The book agrees with you," _and so does Regina,_ "so fair enough. What makes her the Evil Queen now?"

He looks around before delving into whispering again. "She _killed_ people."

She leans closer to him, moving the untouched hot chocolate slightly out of the way, ignoring the face she glimpses watching them as she does so.

"So did everyone else. Well, maybe not Gepetto or Abigail."

"Cinderella didn't."

"Okay, three people."

"The Blue Fairy."

"Isn't the Blue Fairy part of the team goes with Snow and the dwarves to get David out of the castle? And, don't they end up killing a bunch of soldiers?"

"They don't count."

"Why not?"

"Because they're the Evil Queen's soldiers! They're against Snow White and Prince Charming finding true love!"

"But how do you know that? For all you know, the soldiers could just be trying to do their job - keeping intruders out of the walls."

"But they were _part_ of the Evil Queen's army."

"And can you tell me why they joined? Was it because they wanted a different leader than King Leopold? Because they trusted Regina? Because they owed a debt to the Queen? Because they wanted a better life than that of a peasant? Because they didn't have a much of a choice, like the Huntsman? There are a million different reasons, none of which end with them deserving _death_."

"Fine, so she wasn't the only one that killed people. She still killed the most."

"Even more than Rumplestiltskin?"

"She was the _Evil Queen_ , Emma, what more evidence do I need?"

"I never said she wasn't, and it's been almost _thirty_ years. Three decades. What makes her evil _now_?"

For the first time in the entire conversation, he looks unsure.

Then, he gets a glint back in his eyes, and she hopes it's something else she can refute.

For all she wants to believe in Regina, she probably cares about the kid more. He's her kid, why _wouldn't_ she make sure he's got the best chance he can have?

"She adopted me."

"Which makes her evil because?"

"You're the daughter of her arch-nemesis! And, the savior. She wants to turn me against you."

"Ignoring the fact that it was a _closed_ adoption, for the moment, which means she didn't _know_ that I was your birth mother, _and_ , even if she did, she still wouldn't have known I was the savior - what has she done to turn you against me?"

"She said I shouldn't have gone to Boston to get you, because she was _worried_."

"I happen to agree with her statement."

His brow crinkles in confusion. "But I went to get _you_."

"And I'm thrilled to meet you, kid. But you went to Boston which is four hours away, and a place I'm assuming you've never been to before, by yourself. Alone. And I'm guessing you had money, but you certainly _didn't_ have much else. And I drove you back, kid, but most people… wouldn't have. Most of the time, when someone _abandons_ you at birth, staying away from them is a _good_ thing."

Her voice trembles and she takes a short breath. "You were extraordinarily lucky, Henry," she says, using his name for the first time. She shouldn't - she doesn't really have the _right_ to, but it _feels_ right nonetheless.

"I'm sorry."

She nods in acceptance, "But you should apologize to your mom too."

He frowns, but seems to come around to see her side of things, because he murmurs an "Okay," eventually.

She pushes the hot chocolate towards him, and lets him take a sip before she continues.

"Any other ways Regina has been brainwashing you?"

His frown resurfaces as he thinks. "When she first told me I was adopted, she said," he meets her eyes, and then seems to back track, "Well, she told me she loved me first. 'I'll always love you,' she said, 'No matter what you do, or where you go. You're my son. And if I ever meet the people that threw you away, they will regret the day they were born.'"

He meets her eyes again hesitantly. "I don't actually agree with that."

"I know, kid. But I wouldn't be surprised if you did."

"You sent me away to give me my best chance, though. Just like Snow White did."

Her heart catches in her throat at his words.

She's never been compared to her birth mother, thank goodness, but she can't exactly deny the truth in his words, and it hurts, more than she expects it too.

"Perhaps. But that doesn't make it okay."

He shrugs, then narrows his eyes slightly at her. "Are you going to apologize to me for abandoning me?"

She doesn't let herself think before she answers. "No."

"Why?"

And they seem to be back at square one. "Why is your mom evil?"

"Because she's the Evil Queen. And you said that didn't matter, but how couldn't it? She killed people. She destroyed an _entire_ land. She made all these people lose their memories."

"And that's the curse - yet is it really a curse at all? Look at Ruby and Granny. Being wolves surely would have changed how people felt about them. Here, no one has any reason to look at them as a monster. Or, Rumplestiltskin. He doesn't feel the enormous _guilt_ of failing his son. And _maybe_ people here fear him, but he's still approachable. He doesn't have the stigma of being 'The Dark One.' Even Snow White. She's a school teacher, and well respected by the people in the town for it, even happy herself. Sure, she's not with her 'true' love, but she isn't condemned to hell either. You said Snow White was the Evil Queen's arch-nemesis. I'd do a lot worse if I had someone I hated that _much_ , than just separate them from a person who they loved in another life, but didn't remember, kid."

"But then why didn't she tell me about all this? The fairy tales, the magic."

"Maybe she was scared."

He scoffs.

"Did you actually ask her, as a legitimate question?"

"Of course I did."

But his answer is too quick for Emma to believe him.

"When did you get the book?"

"A few months ago."

"You said your teacher gave it to you - in September*? August? May, June? Earlier?"

"August."

"So you've had it for two months, give or take?"

His confident nod makes her glad it's not any longer.

"How long did it take you to read it?"

"A week. Why?"

"Did you believe it at first?"

"No. But, the pictures, they looked so alike, and they kept on matching most of the people I knew - Miss Blanchard, my mom, Sheriff Graham, Mr. Gold - so I thought it might be possible. The book, that was my first connection to you. My mom didn't tell me I was adopted until after I turned 10,*"

"And you got the book right afterwards. So you thought the book was some kind of sign."

"I asked my mom if she knew anything about you, and she told me to stop asking."

"So you thought it was because she was the evil queen."

"Well, I wasn't sure. So I didn't say anything to her, for a week. Didn't talk at all. She kept asking me what was wrong, but then she still wouldn't tell me anything about you. I thought maybe she had gotten to you already, had you hidden away. I had to defeat the evil queen, I couldn't let her _win_."

He doesn't seem to be aware how quickly he's talking, but he seems to finally be spilling everything, and she lets him.

"So, in September, she made me go to Archie. 'If you won't talk to me, maybe you'll talk to him,' and she just left. She used to pick me up from school, you know, and occasionally she'd take me places, the stables, the swimming pool, let me stay for stuff after school, but now it's like she doesn't care. I take the bus now, and I have to be home by five - she's never back earlier, always at the office, and she makes dinner, but it's just the two of us staring at each other while we eat. I thought I heard her crying, one night, but she's the Evil Queen, she doesn't _cry_. So I thought, if I could find you, everything would be okay. You'd take care of me. I kept looking for you. Eventually, I found an article about a little girl who was abandoned on the side of the road - maybe that was where the portal went - found by a little boy. It didn't get me anywhere. At some point, I realized I should start looking for you as my _mother_ , rather than the savior. It helped that I knew you were an orphan, too. And your first name. I finally found you on the 27th, and borrowed Miss Blanchard's credit card on the 28th, I should probably give it back, actually, and the rest you know."

"Did you _borrow_ the credit card, or steal it?"

He winces. "She doesn't know I took it."

She sighs.

"Other than the last two months, when you were ignoring each other, did your mom ever do something _evil_? To you, I mean."

"No? I don't think so."

Emma's pretty sure she should leave the matter be. It's clear that a miscommunication is really all that's happened. Still…

She lowers her voice so that he has to lean in to hear her. "Did she ever ignore you when you were sick? Or when you needed her?"

"No… " His refusal sounds like a question, and so she continues.

"Tell you you were worthless? Would never amount to anything? Lock you away? Let someone hurt you? Hit you?"

"NO, _never_." His answer is vehement, full of conviction and honest, this time, and she sighs back in relief.

She didn't see the signs, in him, the signs she knows from years and _years_ of experience, but she's not sure she could live with herself if she was wrong.

There is a slight silence, and she doesn't look at him.

"I had to know."

She meets his eyes and he gives her a shaky nod.

"Did someone ever do that to you?"

"It _doesn't_ matter."

"Of cour-"

"You asked me why I wouldn't apologize for abandoning you. I _wanted_ to give you your best chance, kid. I made sure, initially, at least, that someone would _adopt_ you, rather than getting thrown around the foster system like I was. I wanted to give you your best chance, and against all odds, I'm pretty sure you got it, so no, I'm not going to apologize."

"You don't have to. My mom… even the last two months, every night, she still tucks me in and tells me she loves me. Comes by to check on me when she thinks I'm asleep, gives me a kiss on the forehead."

He looks a bit scared, now, and Emma regrets her slip.

"That's what you meant, when you kept on asking why I thought she was evil."

She tries to bring him away from the mostly unspoken topic. "Partially. It wouldn't do if she thought this was still the Enchanted Forest would it? Can you imagine if she started wearing one of her dresses from the book, make up and all?"

He laughs, and she takes comfort in the sound.

It is with a smile, albeit a small one, that he next speaks. "My mom's not evil." He actually sounds like he believes it, and she hopes he does, hopes he always has, just lost sight of things, for a while. "I still think the book is real, though."

When she doesn't interrupt, he continues.

"You agree?"

At her smile and nod, it's his turn to slump in relief.

"I was starting to think I was going crazy, you know. No one believed me, not that I told a lot of people - just Archie and Miss Blanchard. And the book, it says mom was the Evil Queen, but that doesn't mean she was _Evil_ , not like you mean. She's _not_. I mean, maybe she was, but, not to me, ever. People can _change_ , can't they?"

"I like to think so." Seeing how unsure he is, she continues further. "People, are people. They're not good, or evil. Black or white. They're just human, and a million different shades of gray, because they make mistakes. Life is made of choices, and not all of them are good ones, kid, but it's how you react, more than what you get as the choices, that defines you as a person. And some people are unforgivable. But I _try_ to give them a chance, anyway. Even when it comes back to bite me later."

"I like that."

She gives him another genuine smile. "I'm glad. But, that's my theory, you've got to make your own. And you have to remember, that for every person who actually means well, there's another one who wants to screw you over. You _can't_ be naive."

He nods, and she can tell he's thinking as well, and then she realizes how young he is, again, _10_ , and seeing as it'd flown past her mind, for the end half of the conversation, she hopes she hasn't ruined too much of his innocence.

"I should apologize to my mom."

"And return the credit card to Miss Blanchard, maybe?"

"Definitely."

"You said your mom didn't know you were here, at the beginning?"

"Yeah, but I'm usually gone early in the mornings."

"Except, it's the day after you _ran away_?"

His smile turns into a kind of grimace. "Do you have a phone?"

"No kid," she offers, not lying seeing as her phone is sitting untouched in her car, gesturing with her head at the person standing somewhat behind where he is sitting, "But Ruby might be able to lend you one."

He's up and going in the direction without another word.

Except, it isn't Ruby he's walking toward, but Regina.

There's a pause for a second, when they see each other.

Like neither of them are sure what they're supposed to do.

Regina stays frozen longer than Henry, though, and the look of complete _shock_ on her face when all Henry does is hug her, makes her smile, again.

Perhaps they're finally getting somewhere.

After Regina unfreezes, she hugs the kid back, and then guides him back to Emma's booth.

"In the future, Henry," and her voice is a bit harsher than it was the night before, "when you disappear from the house, you're _going_ to leave a note."

"Yes, I know, I will. I'm _sorry_ , mom."

Regina, Emma notices, still hasn't actually let go of her son.

"That's… okay. We'll talk about it when you get home today, okay?"

He nods, and Regina smiles.

"Now, think we should get you on the bus, so you don't miss school?" She says, holding up his backpack.

"Right."

"Sorry," Emma offers, finally jumping in, "I forgot it would be a school day."

"Walk me to the bus?" Henry asks, looking from Regina to her in turn.

At Regina's slight nod, she agrees. "Sure, kid, why not?"

… … …

It's not until Henry's off on the bus, that Emma risks another look at Regina.

"I believe we need to talk."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that. How long were you listening?"

If Regina is surprised, she covers it well.

"Quite a while."

… … …

*1. "God bless the master of this house..." by Mother Goose

God bless the master of this house,

The mistress, also,

And all the little children,

That round the table go;

And all your kin and kinsmen

That dwell both far and near;

I wish you a Merry Christmas,

And a Happy New Year.

*2. American schools generally start after Labor day, the first week of September, but a few begin in the last weeks of August, and generally end in either May or June.

*3. According to Wikipedia, Henry's birthday is August 15, 2001.


	5. Proving Memories

Chapter 5: Proving Memories

Emma follows Regina to the pier in silence.

The closer she gets, the less people there are to turn and stare at her as the newcomer, and she is _almost_ grateful.

It hasn't escaped her line of thought that Regina could be planning something nefarious - especially a woman who's she's relatively sure no longer remembers her - but she pushes it away. After all, if she can convince a ten-year old his mother isn't evil, she should be able to remember it too.

Regina sits on one corner of the bench, and she follows, leaving a wide gap between them.

The silence is left unbroken, and so she watches the ships, bobbing on the water. The sea breeze has always struck her as pleasant, if cold - so free and unattached, everything she could never successfully be.

"I suppose," the other woman's voice is reluctant, as Emma turns to look at her, "that I should thank you."

"You're welcome."

Regina has not yet looked at her, and Emma's voice is flat, lacking emotion.

Regina's voice, when she speaks again, is colder, a command, almost. "How did you know?"

"About what, the fairy tales?" Their eyes meet, suddenly, and Emma looks away. She has no right, perhaps, but her tone rises steadily as she goes on. "That they're true? That this town is locked in a cycle that you created? That your son figured out they were true, and _you_ made him think he was going _crazy_?"

" _Yes_."

And maybe it is the brokenness in the other woman's voice that makes Emma look at her.

" _Yes_. I… _I_ made him think he was _delusional._ I _did that._ " And her voice is guilt-stricken enough to make Emma look away again.

She knows what it's like, after all, - to hurt someone and not realize it until it's _too_ _late_ \- but she's far more used to being on the other side.

So she speaks, not quite the answer to the question Regina's asked, but something she should have asked the moment she got here.

"You don't recognize me, do you?"

It's not an accusation - if anything, it is a statement, with a touch of sadness hidden behind it.

"Should I?"

Regina seems confused, if anything. Confirmation enough without actually saying _no_.

But Emma hasn't been _hopeful_ in a long time, and maybe that's why it leaks in now, hope in a twisted fashion, wishing the answer to her next question to amount to the same. Because to recognize is not the same as to remember, and if Regina does not _remember_ then… everything makes a little bit more sense.

"What do you remember about 1997?"

… … …

 _1997 finds Emma a stowaway, attempting to cross state lines in a luggage train car after being abandoned (both literally and purposefully) in Penn Station._

 _Her social worker classes it as her eighth attempt at running away._

 _She knows, by now, that telling the truth will be pointless - 'trouble child' that she is - because god forbid she actually attempt to_ live _._

 _In truth, they only find her once she attempts to hitchhike a ride in Maine, after she's stowed away on two trains, one to Boston, one to Brunswick - because apparently she still looks young at thirteen, to a highway driver - but not to people on train platforms. Then again, in all fairness, half of her 'runaway attempts' have been to Maine._

 _It's almost a relief, to Emma, when she gets dragged to a Police Station - not because of how her social worker sighs when he sees her, or the way the police officer manhandles her into a room - but because they give her food, the first she's had in days since that foster family last fed her, and for that, she remembers the date - January 7th._

 _It's six days later that her social worker takes her out of the orphanage she was dropped at, and tosses her a handful of papers._

" _You've got a new home," he says, as she gets into the car, "Don't screw this one up."_

 _She doesn't actually look at the papers immediately, studying his words first._

" _A home? Not a foster?"_

 _He nods, and there might actually be a smile hidden there, but Emma doesn't care enough to look. (If she cares, that means she feels. If she lets herself feel, then people can hurt her. And if she can be hurt, then people will stab her over and over, until all that's left is dust, a broken girl long forgotten.) Better not to care at all._

" _This lady's a foster, but she's looking to adopt."_

" _But I'm thirteen."_

 _His nod confirms he's not lying. Because once you're over 10 - most don't stand much of a chance._

 _She spends the rest of the time studying the file on this woman, Regina Mills, mayor of -_

" _Storybrooke? Seriously?"_

 _He shrugs, and silence fills the car until they come to a stop._

 _The house they pull up to is practically a carbon copy of the description given in the papers and Emma's brow crinkles as she stares up at it._

 _It's very obvious - to her, at least - that this woman has_ never _been a foster before, not with the immaculate garden and house, nor with the completely accurate information. She almost feels bad, that she is her first, but she forces that feeling away._

 _Emma doesn't feel, for one. And for another, she won't be here long, and then maybe her ninth 'runaway' will find her free._

 _She waits silently as her social worker rings the doorbell, and the woman who comes out is decked out in a suit, and from what she can see through the doorway, the house looks like rich peoples' do in movies, immaculately clean and ridiculously grand._

 _She'll be surprised if she's here more than two weeks._

 _But a house like this, at least her sleeping accommodations might be more than a blanket spread haphazardly across the floor._

" _Hello," the woman says, and she realizes then that the lady's talking to her, "I'm Regina."_

 _She holds out a hand like they're equals instead of her being next in line as Emma's jailer._

 _She quirks her lips in what she hopes looks like a smile, before replying with a curt, "Emma." After all, the lady's already heard her name._

 _She sees her social worker let out a sigh of relief as she returns the handshake, and resists the urge to roll her eyes. Sure, she's a 'trouble kid' because she runs away from the bad ones any chance she gets, and because she's been kicked out enough to break some kind of record - but she knows how to be polite, seeing as being rude will only end up harming_ her _in the long run._

… … …

Regina's voice, skeptical, but humoring her for now, leads her out of her thoughts. "Clinton was elected president, 50 dollar bills were created, I do believe the world's figure skating champion that year was the youngest ever at 14, the film Titanic came out, to great acclaim, and regretfully, Princess Diana met with an untimely death."

She pauses in her recitation, and her clipped words are enough to let Emma know that she's treading on thin waters.

"What about here, in Storybrooke?"

"It was... an uneventful year, I barely remember it."

She thinks about how Storybrooke is supposed to be, when she's not in it, how days are supposed to repeat and meld into each other as if no time has passed, how, if she hadn't lived here those three years, that's how it would have been, but she still isn't completely convinced.

"Was Henry the only kid you ever took in?"

A possibility enters her head before Regina can even answer - or demand when this suddenly turned into an interrogation - and Emma adds, "In this world, I mean."

Maybe it's the unexpectedness of the question that makes her answer it, but Regina does, with a half-bewildered, half-incredulous, "Yes. Of course."

Silence reigns again as Emma thinks of how to prove it, because her best guess is that Regina remembers none of those three years, none of her, and neither does anyone else in town. And if that's true - it means not everyone _chose_ to abandon her. It means she _didn't_ imagine everything, that some of them _cared_. And if she can convince Regina, then she'll have the added assurance of knowing she isn't imagining memories that never existed, either.

It comes to her like a tidal wave, and she wonders if there's a reason what used to be the bane of her existence is like a saving grace now.

"You're registered as a foster parent."

The other woman's eyes furrow, as if in confusion, but then her mask is back, and so is her clipped tone. "Yes. I'm beyond asking how you seem to know these things, but how is that relevant?"

Emma taps out a rhythm on the bench and hope's she's right.

"You never registered as a foster parent. You are one, now, but I don't think it ever occurred to you until I just mentioned it, and you _should_ have some sort of memory of why you chose to register in the first place - but you don't. You don't remember those years, either: 1997, '98, and '99. Neither does anyone else in town. And it's not enough to make you notice it, because all the years blend into each other anyway, since time stands still here - but you only know about outside events from _after_ the fact, not during."

Silence reigns supreme again, and Emma holds her breath, daring to hope.

"That's how you know everything? You were _here_ during the missing years?"

Emma nods.

"But why…" and then a look like fear dawns on her face, "Henry wasn't the first, was he?"

"No."

"You..?" Regina meets her eyes for a second, and Emma's _sure_ she's figured it out, but then Regina is shaking her head and the moment is gone.

"No. Who…" she sighs, cutting herself off mid-sentence, "I suppose you wouldn't know."

Emma doesn't interject.

She _wants_ to. She wants to say, " _You were like my mother. You were like a mother to me, once, and I loved you - but then I did what I did best and I screwed everything up. And then I tried to come back. I was so scared, and I tried to come back - but you were never there, and I figured you were the one chance I had, and the one person who had every right to abandon me, but I didn't think you would - and you did, so I never came back. But if you didn't - if it was all just because you didn't know - then that means you cared, and I still gave up the thing I'd always wanted most in the world."_

She opens her mouth to speak, but then her breath catches in her throat _because how does she know this isn't a trick?_

And so she clenches her hands together in her lap, and _blinks_ , once, twice, three times - until the tears collecting at the corner of her eyes have cleared away, and she has a damper on the overwhelming urge to _run_.

Regina, lost in her own thoughts, barely notices it. "Why don't I remember? If I _adopted-_ " she stumbles over the words - "someone else, _before_ Henry, _what happened_?"

There is _panic_ , genuine, like her worry of Henry was the night before, to Regina's tone, and Emma finds tears streaming down her face, unbidden.

"Did… did you know him?" Regina interjects, voice suddenly controlled, softer - hesitancy, curiosity, and a small amount of regret underlying her tone.

Emma laughs.

It's not a kind laugh. It's bitter, no humor in sight, and a touch hysterical. A jumble of thoughts enter her head - _she's jealous of the son she abandoned at birth, she's come back to the town she'd sworn to never return, and she's standing in front of woman who refuses to put the puzzle pieces together_ \- and they're not funny, but they only make her laugh harder.

She is standing over the pier's edge, watching her reflection shift before her, enough distance away to forget the conflicting feelings Regina carries with her - when the final laugh bubbles out, and the urge to _run_ \- the urge that's been there her whole life, that's _protected_ her, more often than not - finally wins out.

"No," she finally says, meeting Regina's eyes and ignoring the _worry_ that's still in them, _worry for her, and worry for her now,_ "I didn't know _him._ " and whatever calm and caution she once had is thrown to the wind, every sentence _soaked_ in emotion, because she _isn't_ supposed to care, but she _does_ and _she always has_. "And you _heard_ me talking to your son, he doesn't _hate_ you anymore, that should be enough to stop him running away. As for my memories - you needn't worry, I _won't_ explain the true nature of Storybrooke to anyone who doesn't already know. Last, I don't _know_ why you don't remember. It's your memory, Regina, not mine. Mine are still _completely_ intact, regrettably. For all I know, you erased them yourself. How should I know anything?"

She doesn't give Regina a chance to reply - or a chance to stop her - walking briskly back the way they came and ignoring the stares that are thrown her way.

She has a rule one, she sticks to it for a _reason_ \- and she shouldn't have entertained the notion of anything _good_ happening here, and she won't anymore. She'll get into her bug, and she'll drive away, and if anyone _ever_ shows up lost or looking for her from Storybrooke again, she'll either tell them politely to _leave_ or she'll call their parents to come pick them up.

Her fingers fiddle with her car key, and for a moment she wonders if this makes her even _more_ like Snow White - since she's abandoned her child not just once, but _twice_ , even _though_ Henry _is_ in good hands with Regina. Hardening her resolve, she supposes that that will be her cross to bear - besides, she has more than just _one_ thing in common with her elusive birth mother.

After all, _their children are both_ most definitely _better off without them._


	6. Raveling Threads

_Hello!_

 _Thank you all for your continued reading, a few things first to avoid any possible cofusion:_

 _Time in Storybrooke: On a day-to-day basis, except for the main clock on the clock tower, time exists, and seems to work. On a larger scale, time is stagnate. Every person has a series of routine actions for the day, which they repeat day in and day out. However, they aren't aware of the repetition, and assume,_ _naturally, that they are completely in control of their actions. In other words, time exists, and can be recorded - however the various dwellers have no idea 'how long exactly' they have lived in the town, or been an occupant of their current occupation._

 _For the 3 years of Emma's stay in Storybrooke, time acted much like it did in the show, in that the curse no longer predetermined the inhabitants' actions, and also allowed people to age. As such, everyone is 3 years older than they would have been otherwise, and the people originally in Henry's year would have moved on to the middle school. As I misjudged the age of one of the characters while writing this, one character is now 3 to 4 years older than they would be in canon - please accept this deviation, it should make some sense as you read. Once Emma left Storybrooke, time reverted to normal - that being the cursed existence described above._

 _Henry's Book: Regarding the events of Fairy Tale Land, I'm treating all information learned from the Pilot to The Miller's Daughter (2x16), in addition to the information relating Neale's backstory, Pan, and Rumplestiltskin, as true, with the former part of it already in Henry's book, and the later parts to be added in._

 _Other: I know nothing about the legality of social services, social workers, foster homes, runaways, or missing persons. Geography and transportation are accurate to the location and time period._

 _Happy Holidays, and Enjoy!_

Warning: Mentions of descriptions of abuse.

... ... ...

Chapter 6: Raveling Threads

As Cora's _daughter_ \- as Rumpelstiltskin's _student_ \- as Jefferson's travel _acquaintance_ \- as the _Evil Queen_ \- Regina has dabbled in all types of magic, from light to dark, from simple to complex, from one realm to another.

 _Storybrooke_ in particular has no inherent active magic - she can still control her hearts, and her potions still work (all things which carry magic within themselves) - but even _here_ , in this desolate world she sealed off tight enough no outsider _ought_ to have been able to get in - there is still manipulation of memory.

And so it is a fact: the _only_ magic Regina has found, across _all_ realms, is that of memoires.

It should be troubling, too, as there are _far_ too many possibilities of what could have happened to hers.

But something had resonated within her, from the woman's last statement.

" _For all I know, you erased them yourself."_

It had, she knows, been said bitterly with underlying anger, meant not as truth, but as what Emma had considered _cruelest_ , the most harmful possibility to _her_ within what she was sure had to be a lengthy list.

She has no doubt about whether this is all a farce; it is not.

Emma _knows_ her, somehow, and she _had_ to have known Emma in order to betray her. _(And it was betrayal, no doubt, because she has never seen that look in someone's eye who had not been betrayed.)_ And, second, she most certainly _did_ erase the memories _herself_ \- the moment of sudden clarity that prevented her stopping the other woman leaving, is proof enough.

All that left to puzzle out is _how_ , and how to reverse it - which should lead her to the _why_.

And pondering the mystery that is _Emma_ , conveniently no last-name, will not get her anywhere, at this moment - right _now_ , she needs magic.

And she has a good idea of exactly where to get it - they were _her_ memories, after all.

... ... ...

The weight of his bag is heavier than it was when he slipped out of the house that morning, and Henry slides the zipper carefully open, sliding further down in his solitary seat to avoid any prodding eyes.

It's the _book_.

His book, of fairytales and magic and truth, that Emma must have slipped in without him noticing - and it has _new pages_ , uneven and sticking slightly up past the previous, that weren't there last night, that weren't even there _this morning_ , when Emma had slid it across the table toward him.

He thumbs through the pages - more pictures, more stories - some continuations, smaller text, lighter paper - far more than he can read in the remaining five minutes on the bus.

He could always… _skip_ school, of course.

Then with a small, intake of air, the look on his _mother_ 's face, last night, this morning, how _worried_ and then _relieved_ she looked flashes through his mind and he grimaces, small frown marring his face.

He bites his lip, and considers.

But then again, he hasn't learned anything from the repeating days of school for the past _month_ , seeing as he'd went ahead and finished all the coursework in the various books he'd been assigned, plenty enough to prepare him before the shift in teacher and new repeating day and lesson _next_ year.

He gets off the bus with the others, then crosses behind it and around. He heads to clearing near the stables, the one place his mother never ventures, then sits, and takes out the book to read.

" _ **And when he landed, the tunnel of green smoke vanished, Baelfire found himself amidst bustling streets, among people who, in his befuddled and disheveled state, kicked and prodded him out of their way. But worst of all, he found himself**_ _alone,_ _**for his father had broken his promise and**_ _abandoned_ _**him. Abandoned him for**_ _magic_ _, **abandoned him for**_ _power_ … "

... ... ...

 _Her heart feels as if it is beating out of her throat, and she forces herself to_ breathe _, deep breaths, slow and shallow, noiseless, as she counts the seconds turned minutes turned hours._

 _Half-past midnight and she gives one last look around. There's something about the room that screams_ hers _that makes her chest ache, but she swallows it away and makes for the already open window. Once there, she gives one final glance and then shimmies her way down the outer piping of the house, wincing briefly as her socked feet make contact with cold gravel._

 _The backpack upon her shoulders is light, though packed with purpose - nothing to make a sound and give her away, nothing unnecessary - after all, she's done this before._

 _Except, she_ hasn't _. She's a runaway nine times over but this is only her second time_ running away _, no one to have abandoned her, left her waiting on the side of the street, middle of a train station, city, airport, or alone until dawn in a junkyard in the trunk - and the first time wasn't planned, the first time was waking up curled into herself in a corner from the shaking of a foster sister who'd taken pity on her - skinny and starved and collapsed from exhaustion and one slap too many as punishment - who'd helped maneuver her to the door without the attention of their foster parents, told her to run, and run fast, told her names of near deserted alleys to take to avoid notice, told her not to come back, handed her the baby blanket that was her only prized possession and pushed her out the door - but this is different, no hovering near death's edge, just a sort of stubbornness mixed with a little bit of fear and the bitter taste of betrayal._

 _She walks through side alleys until she comes to a stop at the edge of where the main street begins, the once-broken Clock tower and Granny's visible in the distance._

... ... ...

A _click_ emits from behind him, and he turns, and stares.

Stares at the clock that has not moved in… well, not for as long as he can remember, and stands still for a full minute without blinking.

 _Click._

Two minutes away from its usual position at _8:15_.

His cane taps on the concrete as he moves away, continuing on his normal route.

 _Something_ is changing, _something_ is stirring, he simply doesn't know _how_ , or -

What was that _noise_? _Surely_ , it couldn't have been?

He turns, hobbles his way back a few steps - and comes to a stop in front of the clock tower, the clock that has not moved in… well, not for as long as he can remember, and watches.

 _Click._

 _8:19._

 _How odd._ He shuffles to continue his walk, wondering _why_ , but also _what_ that _lingering_ feeling in the back of his skull is -

 _Click._

He turns, retraces a few of his previous steps, and halts - right in front of the clock tower, the clock that has not moved in… well, not for as long as he can remember, and watches.

 _Click._

 _8:21._

 _How strange._ He turns back, intent to ponder the matter as he walks, the reason he can't quite displace the sense of familiarity from -

 _That noise!_

... ... ...

"Hello, everyone," the school teacher intones, watching as students make their way to their desks.

Familiar eyes search the crowd - and fail to spot one face.

"Has anyone seen Henry?"

Heads shake over the room, except one nod, hidden in the corner - and Mary Margaret marks him absent with a _wince_. On the bus, then, but not at school.

It's the _seventh_ time this month, and she really, _really_ , ought to talk to Regina.

But his classwork isn't falling behind at all, and he seems so frigidly _distant_ in the company of his adoptive mother… next time, she tells herself, _next time,_ she will notify Regina.

Her face rearranges itself into a smile, and she focuses on the current, remaining, 19 children in her classroom. She has a lesson to teach, after all.

... ... ...

The girl is seated in the very back of the classroom, located in the east wing of Storybrooke High School, as per usual, attempting a drawing of _those_ fungi, when a phrase by her teacher actually makes her _pay attention_ \- which she hasn't for _years_ , not since she discovered the continued existence of the days repeating.

She checks her watch, shakes her head to clear it, and then checks her watch again.

 _8:35._

That's ten minutes she's been in class, but she's sure it's _longer_ , and _something_ is off, she can feel it. She begins to draw again, same as before, but these are composed of quick, relatively even strokes, exactly one hundred and twenty of them. She checks her watch again.

 _8:35._

And then, there it is again, that phrase.

"Today, we will be starting with functions, and their connection to logarithms."

Her teacher's everyday opening spiel, _except_ \- this is the _third_ time it's been said today, which means something is _wrong_. More interesting, something is odd with _time_ , which has only ever happened _once_ before.

And she certainly _isn't_ going to stand around and wait to see what _happens_ \- she simply has to fool the magic, first, fool the magic enough to not suck _her_ in too.

She hopes being out of the room will do, and pockets two things from her backpack, then raises her hand.

"Yes?"

"May I use the restroom?"

An exasperated sigh, then a nod in her direction.

Once she closes the door, the girl too, breathes a sigh - though this one of relief - then begins the delicate process of sneaking out of the school, easy when the hallways are utterly deserted.

That she knows of, there are two magic users, three other separate places _containing_ magic, and a third person who _re_ me _mb_ er _s_ , whom she must not approach.

The one hundred and twenty stroke drawing of the fungus is burned into her memory, her revelation along with it. _Time_ magic. _Resetting_ , she thinks, but resetting _wrong._

A smile blooms on the girl's face at the possibility. _Time_ , it looks like, to meet an old friend. One she'd _missed_ , but ultimately helped to leave.

She takes the first item - a key - out of her pocket to unlock her bike, putting on the helmet previously attached to the handlebars - safety first, after all - and begins to make her way toward the Town Line, careful to avoid any stragglers potentially not _yet_ caught in the loop.

... ... ...

 _She sits down to wait - but tiredness seeps from her eyes and the next thing she knows there is a tap on her shoulder and she is blinking into the face of her friend._

" _I wasn't asleep," she offers, quick and hurried, but soft and whispered, and the smile on the other girl's face when she returns a, "Sure you weren't," with a smirk is enough to make her smile too._

" _Here," she offers, handing Emma a pair of sneakers that she immediately begins to put on, the shoes she'd purposefully left at her house days before - and with no one the wiser, too._

 _They stand up at relatively the same time - two girls on a street corner in the middle of the night, hidden from street lamps by the shadow of the roof - and she feels emotion bubble up in her throat, suddenly, and tears sting the edge of her eyes that weren't_ there _before - because saying goodbye is just as painful as she'd imagined it, and she doesn't understand this, doesn't know how to go through with leaving_ this _place._

 _She turns, turns to go - and then suddenly she is being hugged, and she returns it, tentatively, because if she stays here too long she'll never leave and she must._

" _Paige," she whispers, a breath of a word, and she is released, then, shadows masking the tears in the other girl's eyes._

" _I'll miss you," she says, and Emma_ hates _it, hates the longing and the fact that she actually made a friend, actually_ let _herself get attached - then Paige nods, adds, "Good luck, Emma," and slips back away to her house, with parents that were once neighbo_ _rs and a silence she learned from a friend whom she helped to abandon her._

... ... ...

The vault is cold, and dust has settled over the shelves, giving off a sense of eeriness even to her - she catches sight of a box in a corner that makes a tremor run through her body, and deliberately turns in the opposite direction.

She killed _hundreds_ of people, and hundreds more were _slaughtered_ on her orders, murder a poor cure for _heartbreak_ and _helplessness_ and _isolation, grief, anger_ \- for all the vile things she has done, she has _never_ regretted the painful, slow, death of her husband - but she _hates_ the vipers, and the castle servants, hates _Snow White_ and anything that reminds her of him - except she knows her blame is _mis_ placed, knows she _almost_ turned into her mother _(but for Henry, and Henry is her redemption, her last chance, an attempt to be decent and human, an attempt to escape the ever-repeating cycle of the curse she'd proclaimed as her happy ending, named for her father who_ loved _her, the only person who did who hadn't been crushed by her mother's hand)_ and so she keeps them, her still beating hearts and poisonous snakes, her once step-daughter turned enemy whom she could have killed without an _inch_ of resistance - everything has its use, and time has given murder a bitter taste in her mouth.

If she _remembers_ correctly, which is no longer a sure thing, her potions, the stock of what she last brewed in the enchanted forest, are hidden past her collection of hearts - which seem somehow diminished in number - on a shelf hidden inside of a shelf, her last remnants of magic carefully stowed away.

Her breath hitches when she looks inside and spots them, 29 vials instead of the original 32, note left in their place, _her_ handwriting spread across it, a note left by her but not _for_ her, and there is a pit growing in her stomach trying to understand what she's done, what she _did_ , and _why._

 _Emma,_ the top of the envelope reads, a collection of elegant letters scratched out with a pen.

... ... ...

He allows his eyes to look through the glass, intent to do a quick glance and then move on - he'll check the patient's vitals later - only to stop, and _stare_.

The coma patient - their John Doe - is _sitting_ up, and both _aware_ and _awake_ , by the looks of it.

He enters the room, not closing the door behind him.

"Hello," he starts out, using the rehearsed speech and attempting to project calm, "I'm Nurse -"

"Williams," the patient answers, and, unawares, he begins to gape, "I was a coma patient, and I'm currently in Storybrooke General Hospital, been here since a woman, the mayor, found me passed out on the side of the street. Or, well, that was the story last time. And this is the second time I've woken up here. So, what happened this time?"

After a moment, he closes his mouth, still not believing his eyes. Or ears. "Y-You… you're correct, sir. But you've never 'woken up' before, this _is_ the first time…"

"No, I've done this before, this is…" and then the patient pauses, as if in thought, and his shoulders sag. "Oh. Oh. Of course. I don't suppose you know of an _Emma_ as a town resident?"

He consults his mental list of patients, of people he comes across in the grocery store, and comes up completely _blank_. "No."

The patient sighs. "Could you notify Regina Mills, then? I daresay she's marked down as my emergency contact."

He gapes, again. Then gulps, and leaves the room with a single nod in acknowledgement toward the scarily accurate John Doe, to do _exactly_ as asked.

... ... ...

His eyes glance up from the page, blinking from the sudden exposure to sunlight, then glance down again, and he closes the book with a resounding _thud_ , although there's no one around to hear.

The stories still don't seem quite real to him, despite Emma's assurances, they are _fairy tales_ , and fairy tales are not supposed to be real. But there's a vial in the book he _recognizes_ , one hidden away that he's stumbled upon by accident while visiting his _mothe- the Evil-_ _Regina_ 's office.

With reckless abandon - no thought what will happen if he gets caught - he shoves the book unceremoniously in his backpack, and begins walking that way.

... ... ...

 _Quarter 'til two and Emma darts along trees in the forest until she comes across a diner - the diner newspapers say a 7-year-old boy found her at mere hours after she was born - and carefully makes her way around it before trudging forward, effectively circumventing the Storybrooke boundaries - the ones that usually stop normal people from entering, that stop people of the town from leaving._

 _It's half an hour before she's proven to have gone in the right direction, street sign for,_ **Thomaston, Maine** _,_ _**population 3,748**_ _, right above her._

 _Four o'clock finds her at a Greyhound bus stop another town over,_ **Rockland, Maine** , _and she counts out the money she's collected, half-stolen, half-earned, 489 dollars in cash, no loose change for fear of discovery - a bit over 20% will be enough to get her to New York, hopefully far enough away to warrant immediate suspicion - and then she will take a train further away, get a job, find a way to_ live _. And she will do it on her own, because she_ is _all she has and all that she can trust, a lesson she should have known better than not to follow._

 _The sun rises at almost forty minutes past five, and less than half an hour later, a Greyhound bus, the first of the day, pulls into a stop in Rockland, Maine, and an eighteen year old girl with a self-assured smile, dirty blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, and glasses framing her eyes that never meet those of the bus driver climbs aboard._

 _When the missing person's report is faxed from two towns over a day and a half later, the bus driver in question will shake his head and deny any knowledge of having seen a sixteen year-old girl, marked a potential runaway. The blonde-hair will spark his memory, enough to make him pause - but then he will justify it away. "There was a blondie the morning before," he will say, referring to the day before the fax was received, "but she was older, paid the adult ticket price - and she had glasses, black frames. I think her eyes were brown," he adds, and the officer looks to other avenues, dismissing the possibility of bus passengers completely - especially the chance of a runaway before the person in question even went missing._

... ... ...

The ringing of her cell interrupts her train of thought, and Regina quickly places the letter down when she sees the caller ID that blinks up at her as "Hospital".

"Hello?"

"Madam Mayor, you wished to be notified if there was any change in the John Doe?"

"Yes?"

"He's awake."

"He's awake?" She repeats back, shock present in her voice.

"Yes. And, he's asking for you."

She eyes her letter to Emma, then reassess her priorities as she answers the unasked question.

"I'm on my way."

The dial tone picks up, and she shuts her phone and puts the letter in the pocket of her coat.

... ... ...

Inside the grandest mansion in the town, furthest away from anything else in Storybrooke, a man paces back and forth across his floor, winding through a maze of hats, fingers on his left hand tapping an erratic rhythm across his forehead.

He is muttering, speaking faster and faster as time goes on, same phrase over and over again.

" _Magic_ is awakening."

As the speed increases the clarity decreases, until " _Magic_ isawakening," has dissolved into a jumble closer to slurs than actual _words_.

After the fifth repetition of the slurs, he stops. Straightens. Sinks into a chair, takes a long drink from the auburn-colored concoction in the glass beside him, and shows no sign of resuming his previous, panicked pacing.

He takes another sip, and rubs his temple gently, the headache still failing to dull.

"28 years, but something very strange is going on," he concludes, "something that wasn't predicted to happen."

... ... ...

She meets Henry coming out the door that is her father's coffin, into the graveyard - literally bumps into him, and her arms are out to steady him before she even realizes what is going on.

"Henry?"

"Mom?"

He starts to scramble back once his senses come back to him, away and out of her reach - but not quick enough to prevent her from seeing the book he'd hastily shut when he'd realized her presence.

Knowing he won't give it to her without a fight - it's a book she's glimpsed in and around the house these past few months, but never without Henry present, no doubt to protect it - she gently pries it from his hands before he can fully grasp that she is doing so.

And, as per her prediction - "Give it back, it's mine!"

Flipping through the pages, though, the drawings so real and _lifelike_ , the words she's glimpsed factual truth in her mind - everything suddenly paints a crystal clear picture. No _wonder_ her son had been so set in his beliefs, the pictures match the people, if nothing else.

There's trolls and dragons, castles and forests, hearts _(her own)_ , Jefferson's hat, a spinning wheel _(Rumpelstiltskin's)_ , London cityscapes - so perhaps she is _not_ the first of the Enchanted forest to find this world - and a selection of potions gathered on an island she's never been to that makes her pause. Because this is _centuries_ and _decades_ ago, but it matches her missing potion vials exactly, save one.

And her son is still in front of her, looking furious and terrified all at once.

She holds out the book to him, then, still open to what she assumes is Neverland and her missing potions -

"How did you know what page I was on?"

"I didn't," she is quick to respond, her mind busy trying to find how her son has made the connection between the vials in the book and this desolate graveyard.

She misses the glare, and the suspicion Henry retains at her answer.

"You have the same ones!" He accuses, and she can feel the color draining from her face at the many, many, implications.

"No," she sighs, and her son's face is an ugly mask of continued distrust, "I only have one."

... ... ...

He stares at her for what seems like forever, before the silence is too much, and just this once, he wants some kind of proof that is concrete.

"It's all real?" he asks, and Henry's voice is barely above a whisper, but - " _There's no such thing as fairy tales, Henry, I know they're nice to believe in, but they're not real." "Dr. Hopper, I am paying you to help Henry, but I really don't see any progress. He's ten years old, and he needs to stop believing the constructs of his imagination." "I am your mother, Henry, and…"_ -

"Yes," she says, and studying her in that moment - eyes barely meeting his, shoulders slumped in some symbalance of defeat, face pale - she looks more tired than he has ever seen her.

She closes the book and hands it _back_ to him, with an attempt at a smile that fails miserably, "Magic is real."

He takes it carefully, but she doesn't snatch it back, so Henry puts it back in his backpack and keeps on staring. It's not supposed to be like this, painful and honest and _complicated_ , the Evil Queen is supposed to be evil, and Snow White and Prince Charming are supposed be good, and one is supposed to defeat the other. But then the Evil Queen is his mother, a mother who's admitting all of this is _true_ , and Emma is the one who put everything in perspective - They make mistakes, they're just human, just a million different shades of gray.

"Henry," she says, and it shakes him out of his reverie, makes him look up at her.

"John Doe woke up from his coma."

It takes his a second to join the dots together, before, "Prince Charming?"

"Yes. I'm listed as his emergency contact, and they said he was asking for me."

"That's weird, right? He's not supposed to remember anything from the Enchanted Forest, or here?"

"No. Would you like to come with me, assuming I will have no success in sending you back to school?"

He can feel his face go red at being caught, but nods anyway, follows her back to the car.

"There are quite a list of things we should talk about," she begins, stopping outside and he nods, previous topic not forgotten, "but we don't have much time now, and I'm not sure how much we will have later, so you're free to ask questions, and _I'm sorry._ "

Her eyes meet his full force, and if he had any doubt earlier, he doesn't, now, the sheer amount of genuineness in her voice convincing him. She crouches down to his level, then, takes his hands in hers, the way she used when he was scared, between cockroaches jumping out and the boom and strike of thunder and lighting - " _Just remember you always have someone you can hold onto,"_ -

"I'm sorry I lied, I'm sorry I made you think there was something wrong with you. I was - I'm _sorry_."

There is a tear, streaming down the side of her face now, and he squeezes her hands back. "It's okay," he tells her, because maybe it isn't, but he has always hated seeing his mother cry and this is no different.

"No. It's not."

A second tear joins her first, and then he lets go of her hands and hugs her, because none of this is easy but maybe he has his mother back, not the guise of the Evil Queen he put in her place - and Henry's missed her, even if he can't quite admit it to himself.

"I'm sorry too," he adds, because he is - for running away, for skipping school, for thinking she _didn't care_ when she always has.

She hands him an envelope from her pocket once he's let go, wiping her eyes with a tissue in the process.

His birth mother's name written across it makes his curiosity spark, but he is guided into the back seat of the car before he can ask any questions.

"I found it while I was looking for the vials in the book," she explains as the car starts up, "I thought you could tell me what it said."

"But it's Emma's," he argues, the complaint barely out of his mouth when he recognizes the handwriting as his mother's.

"Yet it was hidden inside my vault."

"You don't know what it says?"

"No."

"But you wrote it."

Her answer is slower this time, not immediate. "Apparently."

"You don't remember writing it?"

"No."

It takes a second for the pieces to fit themselves together, but when they do he doesn't hold back. "So that's why you stopped on the page about the memory potion."

"Yes."

"But how would you have known about Emma? Unless - but she said it was a closed adoption."

"I don't know."

There is a touch of exasperation in her voice, and, "Oh. Right."

Memory potion.

He slides his finger in between the gap in the paper, and tears open the envelope.

... ... ...

It's as she's about to cross the town line that a person walks to stand in front of her, and she barely breaks quick enough to come to a stop.

She sees only the shoes, the black of mary janes, of the person in question before she unbuckles her seatbelt and jumps out, ready to scold, to yell, to turn quick to anger- only to have it all dissipate in one startled gasp of air.

Her friend looks the same as she did when she last left her, hair caught between the color of red and blond, brown eyes, school uniform paired with a scarf- and _young_. Still sixteen, and if everything else hasn't been enough of a reminder of the past this _is_ , they used to be the same height, two girls who knew about magic against the rest of the _world_ … but Emma has about an inch over her, now, and 10 years have passed.

And Paige won't remember her. Not when no one else has, and Emma closes her mouth, suddenly aware of it being open in awe - but there is nothing to be in awe _of_ , not anymore. Everything has been forgotten.

"You should watch your step." She tells the trees to the left of her friend, her voice firm and gruff.

But then Paige smiles, that smile that takes everything Emma says and finds something funny about it,

"Nice to see you too, Emma."

and she is blindsided, again.


End file.
